


Misunderstandings

by justonelastdance



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Consent Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justonelastdance/pseuds/justonelastdance
Summary: Maedhros tries to bottom for the first time after his rescue. Things don't go as planned.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	Misunderstandings

As always, Fingon takes a minute to admire Maedhros's naked body. The idea of being allowed to touch it makes his mouth water, and he feels like he is back in Valinor, trying not to stare at his beautiful, inaccessible cousin. He would spend hours worshipping Maedhros's body with his fingers, his lips, his entire being. He has before, but today isn't about that. 

He looks up and finds Maedhros smiling. His heart soars. The times when his beloved hid from his gaze, convinced that he would disgust Fingon, are long gone. Maedhros has come so far, has recovered so well, and today they are even going to try what they didn't dare to try after Maedhros's torment in Angband.

Fingon gets on the bed and reaches for a pillow, putting it under Maedhros's back, then shuffles forward, sitting on his knees between Maedhros's parted legs. "Are you sure about the position?" he asks.

Maedhros nods. "If I turn— I have to see your face." He hesitates. "Unless you want me on my stomach. I could try—"

"No!" Fingon says. "I don't care. I only want you to be comfortable." He squeezes Maedhros's knee reassuringly. "Shall we?"

"Yes."

Fingon's cock stirs just from Maedhros's slightly husky voice. He bends down to kiss the side of his lover's knee, then takes the oil. 

"Whenever you want me to stop, you must tell me, or tell me no, or shake your head. I will stop immediately."

"Yes, I know, Finno," Maedhros says.

"And if you feel that you can't-can't do it." Fingon's voice breaks a little, but he has to make sure. "If you can't do it, use the word. You remember it, right?"

"Finno, it's not that hard to remember the word _golden_ , especially when I look at you."

Fingon rolls his eyes, even if his cheeks heat up. "Flatterer. Alright, but in case you forget or can't say it for some reason—"

"I will knock twice on the headboard or the table or your head." He reaches up and demonstrates it. 

Fingon laughs, and Maedhros grins triumphantly, lying back. Fingon coats his fingers in oil and then smears a generous amount over Maedhros's hole. He slowly pushes one finger in, looking up at his lover. "Good?"

"Mmm, keep going."

Fingon is happy to oblige. His cock is already heavy, straining against his stomach. Maedhros always has this effect on him. He can make Fingon hard just by a look, a sound, a smile meant only for him. He adds another finger, watching as it disappears inside Maedhros. His other hand goes to his lover's cock, stroking it as he thrusts and stretches his fingers inside. Maedhros bites back a moan, a little needy sound in the back of his throat. 

"Let me hear you," Fingon says. "Manwë on the mountain, Russandol, if only you could see yourself. I think I can come just from this sight."

He means it. Maedhros is so beautiful, stretched before him like that, a pink tinge in his cheeks, his red hair strewn about as rivulets of fire. There is a fire in his eyes, too, burning high and bright, and Fingon cannot wait for it to consume him. Maedhros's cock is filling under Fingon's ministrations, making him throw his head back and moan unrestrained. Fingon cannot hold back his moan.

"Ah, no, beauty, you wanted to come inside me, remember?" Maedhros says breathlessly. "You can do it already. I am ready."

"Another one, and then I will," Fingon promises. 

Maedhros arches his back and cries out as Fingon curls his forefinger inside him, then almost chokes as a third finger is added.

"You are taking it so well, beloved," Fingon whispers. "Are you alright?"

"More than," Maedhros gasps, "But I will be better if you get inside me."

"Just a moment, Russo." Fingon stretches his fingers. "Just want to make sure—"

"I won't break, Finno."

"Alright, beloved." 

Fingon still spends a few moments more preparing him, ignoring how his own cock is weeping, then slowly pulls his fingers out. Maedhros whimpers, and then cries out again as Fingon gently grazes his balls. 

"Finno, _please._ "

Fingon feels almost dizzy with arousal. He didn't think he could get more hard than he was, but Maedhros's throaty, needy voice proves him wrong. He hastily but thoroughly smears oil on his cock and throws Maedhros's leg over his shoulder.

"Are you ready, beloved?"

_"Yes."_

That single word nearly makes Fingon slam inside in one motion, but he controls himself, pushing slowly into Maedhros's inviting, almost burning heat. Oh, how he had missed it. He hadn't tasted it since Valinor, had almost forgotten how overwhelming, all-compassing the experience is, how it makes him forget everything else, except this moment, except the star-fire that is Maedhros. 

Fingon tries to remember this, to concentrate on every single sensation, on the slide of his cock between Maedhros's walls, on his fingers pressing into the soft skin of Maedhros's knee, but the prolonged moan of his beloved as Fingon enters him, makes his vision go black. 

Maedhros closes his eyes, throws his head back, and stays like that. Fingon, tuned to the most minute change in Maedhros's mood, stills inside of him.

"Russandol?"

No answer. Maedhros's chest is rising and falling rapidly.

"Russandol."

Maedhros doesn't move. Fingon scrambles back as quickly and carefully as he can and sits on the edge of the bed, waiting. 

"Russandol," he tries again.

He is startled when Maedhros spits out a curse and slings his arm over the bedside table. The vial with oil, the clay water jug, and Fingon's hairpins clatter on the floor. The jug breaks. The silver hairpins glitter as the water spreads around them.

"I can't even do this!" Maedhros cries.

"It's not your fault," Fingon hurries to assure him. "We should not have tried. It was still too early."

Maedhros doesn't answer. He curls up on his side, his back to Fingon.

"Should I leave? Fingon asks. His voice is nothing but a whisper.

"No," Maedhros says.

Fingon lets out a breath. "May I touch you?"

Maedhros hesitates. "Not yet."

Fingon nods and doesn't move. After a while, Maedhros turns to him, though he still avoids meeting his lover's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says. 

"So am I." Fingon aches to touch him, but Maedhros hasn't said yet that he can. "Oh, Russo, I am so sorry. It was going so well, I thought... Did you forget to use the safeword?" he asks. "Or to knock?"

"I forgot that I could," Maedhros says.

Fingon quickly wipes away the sudden tears that flow down his eyes, but Maedhros notices.

"No, please don't cry, Finno," he begs. He moves as though to touch him but pulls back at the last moment. "It's all my fault. I ruined everything. I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted it. I thought I could do it. I don't know what happened. It was so sudden."

"Stop it, it's not your fault," Fingon says, nearly automatically because his mind is elsewhere.

There was something in Maedhros's words that bothers him, and for a moment, he can't pinpoint what it is, but then he does.

" _I_ wanted it?" he asks. "You mean we both wanted it." There is cold horror growing in his heart. "Right?"

"I want whatever you want, Finno."

All the air disappears from Fingon's lungs. He gasps for breath. Maedhros finally looks at him in concern. 

"So you only agreed to this because I wanted it?" Fingon says slowly.

Maedhros stares at him. "If you want it, then I want it," he repeats, as though it couldn't have been clearer.

"Russo, no! Oh, what have I done?" His breath comes out in fast, choked gasps. "When I was-when we were trying— You-you said you wanted— You said those words only because you thought I wanted to hear them?"

"That's how sex works, Finno."

"No, no, Russo, that's not how it works, that's not how it should work." Fingon is shaking now. "All this time, I was so happy, I thought you were doing so well, but all those things we have done were just because I wanted it, and you believed you had to please me?"

"That's not what I said," Maedhros interjects, but Fingon isn't listening to him.

"We have done so much since I found you. I thought we both wanted it, but you... All this time, I was-was f-forcing you? Just like—"

He bends over his knees, trembling, unable to breathe, choking from dry sobs. How did this go so wrong so fast? How could he have been so stupid?

Suddenly there are warm arms around him and he is pulled into an embrace. Maedhros whispers soft reassurances, which Fingon doesn't comprehend, but which make him hate himself more for making Maedhros comfort him, violating his own boundaries.

"Don't touch me!" he yells.

Maedhros instantly jumps back. His eyes are huge, his face white. "I'm sorry," he whispers through bloodless lips.

Fingon cards his fingers through his hair, grabs at a strand and pulls. He sees Maedhros's hand twitch, knows that even after all of this, his instinct is still to comfort. 

"How can you want even to look at me after what I did?" he cries out.

Maedhros suddenly looks so tired, looks like he would break into pieces if Fingon touched him.

"I don't know how else to explain it, Finno," he says. "If you want something, then I want it too. Or rather I want it because you want it." He sighs, frustrated, looking for the right words. "What brings me pleasure is seeing you in pleasure. I couldn't care less about how it happens. Truly, I don't. I know it was different in Valinor, but I have changed. I do enjoy it, of course, but my greatest pleasure is giving you it. You didn't force me to do anything. You aren't-aren't like him. You are nothing like him and don't you dare ever say something like that again." 

He sounds genuinely angry, a rare thing when they are together, and Fingon wants to hang his head in shame like a student who has disappointed his tutor. 

"You are so beautiful in the throes of pleasure, Finno," Maedhros continues. "There is no sight more exquisite, nothing else that I love to see more. If I were offered a choice between one moment of pleasure for you and bringing the Trees back, I would choose the former. So when I say what you want, I want, I don't mean that I force myself to go through it. I do want it, Finno. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think I do," Fingon says. "But Russo, if there were something you didn't want to do, would you tell me?"

Maedhros is silent for a moment. "I don't know," he admits finally, and before Fingon can protest, continues, "But so far, I have wanted everything we did, I promise. You want me to fuck you? I want it and I will do it. You want me to suck you off? I want it and I will do it. You want to fuck me? I want it and I will do it. Well, I fucked it up today, but I will get over it. Valar curse me, I'm not explaining it well, I know. I never had to put it into words before."

Fingon shuffles closer to Maedhros. His lover's words have both calmed him and worried him anew. 

"Russo, please, first of all, what happened today was your mind's way of telling us that you aren't ready for this. You didn't fuck up. Please never say that. Don't even think that. Alright?" He waits until Maedhros gives him an unsure nod. "I don't want you to get over it. I mean I do, but not in the way you mean. Even if you never do, if we never do this, I will be happy. Russo, there were times when I—" He laughs quietly. "When my greatest dream was to get just a smile from you. What we have now is beyond what I could ever imagine. I love you, Russandol, I will love you even if we do nothing else but hold hands."

He reaches for Maedhros's hand then and sighs in relief when his lover takes it with no hesitation and even pulls him into a hug. Fingon melts against Maedhros's warm chest, the emotions of the day hitting him all of a sudden. He falls down the bed bonelessly, and Maedhros follows him, embracing Fingon once again.

"We will have to talk about this," Fingon murmurs, his lips pressed to Maedhros's neck. "Frequently and extensively. We will have to be more careful moving forward. You hear me, Russo?"

"Yes," Maedhros says, hoarse from exhaustion. "But for now I am content just lying here with you in my arms. Are you, my love?"

"I am," Fingon says. "I always will be."


End file.
